Fireworks
by Firazh
Summary: Oneshot: During a New Year's Eve celebration at Grimmauld Place, several people learn more about Harry Potter's life than they had expected ...


Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

AN: My muse has unfortunately been a bit reluctant recently, which is why there have been few updates on my longer stories. But this morning I woke up with an idea for a New Year's one-shot, so I had to write it down. Fast. To get it posted in time for midnight. My midnight, obviously, as New Year likes to travel around the globe. It gets to see more fireworks that way. The Nargles have told me of this, so it must be true.

I also just watched 'Dinner for one', which is still funny even after seeing it more than two dozen times, and now I shall go watch some fireworks while listening to 'The Blue Danube' Waltz. Anyway please read, hopefully enjoy, and a Happy New Year everyone!

And now this is a repost, a day later, as the story kept bugging all day long, with various error messages cropping up. Hopefully this time it will work properly.

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oOoOoOoOo

"Go away, Snivellus. No-one wants you here," Sirius Black snarled angrily, getting to his feet rather unsteadily. And a bit too fast, judging by the way he swayed momentarily. Most of the adults had a tad too much to drink at this point, in Harry's opinion.

It was New Year's Eve, and the Weasleys and a few other Order members had gathered at Grimmauld Place. Everybody had been drinking and eating and generally socialising for several hours in anticipation of the year changing. It was getting close to the midnight hour now, and consequently most of the adults were getting a bit … jolly. Harry, by contrast, mostly felt morose. It had been an awful year, and the next one didn't promise to be any better. Nothing to celebrate, really. But none of the others seemed to have noticed how he'd withdrawn and kept quiet all evening.

Like always. When it counted … he was alone. There was never anyone to rely on. And yet … he didn't want to spoil their fun, either. But it was hard not to feel alienated. Not included. Even if it was his own fault. They were just giving him space. Respecting his wishes. Not ignoring him, no. Not exactly, anyway. It wasn't their fault he wasn't feeling like celebrating, and was keeping to himself.

He scowled into his still mostly full glass of punch, determined to ignore the confrontation between his godfather and Snape, who had swept into the room moments earlier. He didn't need his mood spoiled even further, he told himself.

Snape, of course, had no intention of backing down.

"I am fully aware of the fact that you do not want to see me, mutt," the dark-eyed wizard snapped, his voice dripping venom. "And I assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual. But then I am not here to enjoy your drink-sodden presence. Where is Arthur?" he asked with a sneer.

"Who cares what you want, Snivellus. You have no right to just barge in on normal people and spoil their fun," Sirius shouted, slurring his words slightly.

Harry couldn't help his flinch. He didn't like Snape one bit, but for a moment there Sirius reminded him forcefully of Uncle Vernon. Who hated his freak of a nephew with as much passion as Sirius hated Snape. Hated him for intruding and spoiling their perfectly normal family-life.

And maybe with just as little justification, his conscience whispered to him.

Slight as the flinch had been, it seemed to draw Snape's attention, as the dark gaze flickered momentarily to where Harry sat alone in the shadows. A touch of surprise filled those black eyes at seeing him there all alone, before they immediately returned to Sirius Black. The Animagus was staggering up to Snape now, lurching a little bit.

"Get out, Snivellus. Get out, now," he said, waving his hands for emphasis.

Snape just looked him over with a bored and disdainful expression. "Where might I find Arthur Weasley?" he asked again.

"Mr. Weasley is in the kitchen, I think," Hermione piped up helpfully, giving Sirius a reproachful look.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Snape told her with exaggerated politeness. His dark regard swept around the room, lingering for just a moment on Harry again. The teacher then executed an ironic half-bow, forcing Sirius to shift back, which left the man swaying unsteadily, and swept from the room without another word.

"Greasy bastard! Go run back to your master where you belong, cowering at his feet!" Sirius shouted after him. "Nasty git, no-one wants you, you snivelling coward. Slimy Slytherin!" he added spitefully, his face a mask of anger and disgust.

It was just too much. He needed to get away. Harry stood up with a sigh and moved over towards the door.

"Must you always say things like that to him?" he asked softly as he passed his godfather.

He didn't really understand why, but tonight the insults felt as if they were aimed at him rather than at Snape. And they hurt. Even though they weren't meant for him. But they could have been. What if he hadn't said no to the hat and gone into Slytherin? Would he have become Ron's friend? Would Sirius still like him? Somehow … he doubted it. Which didn't feel good at all.

Sirius gave a drunken laugh which sounded almost ghastly in Harry's ears, and tried to give his godson a hug. The laughter died when Harry ducked out from under Sirius' arms and gave him a glare.

"I mean it, Sirius," he said through clenched teeth. "It's really not nice to call him that."

Ron, who'd been busy stuffing his face with crisps, looked up and frowned at his friend. "Oh come on, mate, the greasy bat totally deserves it, and you know it," the red-head said with conviction.

Harry turned to face him. "No, he doesn't," he replied. "No-one does," he added softly, looking back from his friend to his godfather who was now frowning at Harry as well.

"But I guess you wouldn't understand," he said with a sad smile. "People usually don't, unless they've been on the receiving end."

There was an uncomfortable silence for long moments.

"What do you mean?" Sirius finally asked, sounding perplexed.

"I mean I know what it's like to be called names. To be a bloody _target_. To be ganged up upon, which isn't fun at all, believe me," Harry explained with a scowl of his own. "Sometimes I even wonder if, had we been together in school, you and the Marauders would have picked on me as well?"

"Kid, what are you talking about? I'd never ..."

"No? But then you've got _no_ bloody idea of what my life was like, do you? What it's like to have no friends, to have to wear second-hand clothes several sizes to large, to have to hold yourself back so you don't out-perform your mental slug of a cousin? Who just loves picking on you? All the time? To be the sorry loser who no-one likes?" Harry asked, feeling horrified even as the words spilled out from him and he couldn't stop them.

He didn't want to tell them. Didn't want them to know. But tonight, of all nights, the unfairness of it all was getting to him. Or maybe it was feeling left out because he just couldn't relate, and then observing the behaviour of the people who were meant to be better than … this measly, callous disregard of the feelings of others. His friend should know better. His godfather should know better.

"I know what it's like to have _no-one want you_! And to have people make fun of you because of it! And … and I can't stand seeing you do the same. Even if it's 'just' Snape. I can't," he added brokenly, seeing the mixture of horror and incomprehension in all their eyes.

"Harry … " his godfather started, sounding confused and much soberer.

"Yes, I know he provokes you, but you do the same. All the time! And you know what, Sirius? You're worse than him! And thoughtless, too! Because you know who he'll take his anger at you out on? _Me_! Me, that's who. So please do go on, Sirius. Make my life even more hell," he concluded, struggling with sudden tears of anger and frustration. "Right now I don't even know why I bother defending you when he rips into you. Maybe I should agree with him, he might be nicer to me then."

Everyone in the room was staring at him, looking shocked. Confused. He had a few moments before they would demand explanations, or wanted to apologise. Or worse, wanted him to apologise for his outburst.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything. Have a nice party," he said with a forced smile, swallowing the tears with long practise. "I'll … just go up to bed early. Not feeling well, you know? Been out of sorts all day, so .. yeah … just forget I said anything," he concluded lamely, and before any of them could move or say anything, he quickly left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

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oOoOoOoOo

The hallway was nice and empty, but that wasn't enough. He needed … air. Fresh air. He'd just nip outside the door for a moment, if he stayed on the stairs he should be safe enough. He'd clear his head and then … go up to his room. Where he could feel properly sorry for himself, and brood upon being alone and how everyone was an insensitive jerk and … yeah. Air. That's what he needed. Nice cold air. Maybe there would even be a firework or two to take his mind of things.

He grabbed a cloak in passing, and narrowly avoided tripping over something in the gloomy hallway. Which would have woken up Mrs. Black, so good thing he didn't. A shouting match with a blood-purist hypocrite was about the last thing he needed right now. The heavy door squeaked a bit in protest, and he opened it just enough to slip outside.

Air. Nice cold fresh air. He shivered, and swallowed down more tears. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he looked up just in time to see a large firework explode in red and gold sparks, painting the night sky in Gryffindor colours. Loud whoops greeted this display from the direction of the small park opposite, where several people had gathered to watch the fireworks. He could just make out a few silhouettes from where he stood. Something inside him clenched painfully at hearing laughter and excited voices drifting through the cold air.

A moment later he yelped as a hand clamped around his arm.

"What do you think you are doing out here, Potter?" the hated voice asked sarcastically.

Harry stared up at his teacher in horror. He'd thought Snape had already left, but clearly he … hadn't. Which meant he might have heard ...

"I just needed some … fresh air, sir," he explained lamely.

"And to get away from everyone?" Snape asked shrewdly. And unexpectedly without any rancour in his voice.

"Maybe," Harry agreed stiffly, shrugging as much as Snape's grip on his arm allowed. Surprisingly the teacher released him. Harry froze when the dark-eyed wizard took out his wand in the next moment, but it was only pointed at the steps, and then swept around them in graceful arcs while Snape muttered a few spells under his breath.

"Sit," the teacher commanded.

Harry automatically sat down on the now warm steps, feeling rather stunned. Sounds from around them had dimmed, and the air seemed … heavier. The next moment he felt even more stunned when Snape, of all people, draped himself gracefully next to him, giving Harry an unreadable look.

"I heard what you said to them," the wizard said slowly. "I must confess, it leaves me feeling … puzzled as to why you would say it unless ..."

"Sir?"

"It was actually the truth?"

Harry flushed and was glad the darkness hid his face. He turned it away in any case.

"Does it matter?" he asked softly.

He heard a sigh.

"Yes. Because it would mean I might have been … wrong about you ..."

Harry shook his head, fighting off a fresh wave of tears.

"How would that change anything, sir?"

"You cannot mean to tell me you enjoy being treated unfairly."

He shrugged. Life was unfair. People were unfair hypocrites. If wishes were galleons, he'd be rich. Richer, that is. But the heavy silence between them demanded more of an answer than just a shrug.

"Look, I just … don't like it really. Name-calling. It's … nasty. That's all. That's why I got so upset."

"And yet you do so often with Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry shot Snape a disbelieving look.

"But _he_ always starts it. I mostly just defend myself. Besides half of the time it's Ron, really," he said morosely. "I'd be happy just to ignore him, but Ron tends to blow up at him. And then who gets the fall-out usually? Me, that's what," he concluded with an unhappy laugh. "Honest, who needs enemies when he has friends and a godfather like that?"

"And yet you stick up for them?"

Harry closed his eyes. "They are all I have," he said simply.

It was the truth. A horrible truth, really, come to think of it.

"But tonight you risked alienating them ..."

"I … don't know why I said all that. Sometimes it just gets too much. Just … forget it, please, sir," he said, knowing he sounded desperate.

The silence grew heavy again.

"No. I do not think I will, Mr. Potter," Snape finally replied gravely. "I fear you have sparked my curiosity tonight. And I will get to the bottom of this. Because you clearly are not the person I thought you were."

"You shouldn't, sir. Really. Don't. You wouldn't like what you find. Honest."

"You may be right about that. But unpleasantness has never stopped me from doing a job, Mr. Potter."

It sounded like a threat. And a promise.

He knew with a sinking feeling Snape would dig around until he found the truth. All the sad and sorry truth about Harry Potter, the unwanted freak of Privet Drive.

"It will not matter anyway. It never has," he tried to explain. "It never does any good."

"Maybe," the reply was enigmatic. "But you realise that the more you protest, the harder I will try to find out?"

Damn. Caught. And perhaps … some part of him wanted to be found out. Just … don't expect it to change anything. Where there is no hope, it can't be destroyed.

Hope was like a firework. On first glance it looked amazing, but in the end it was simply a load of sparks, which turned into smoke, which blew away and in the end … you had nothing but a faint memory.

"The headmaster wants you to take lessons in Occlumency with me," Snape suddenly said, interrupting Harry's dark thoughts.

"Occlumency? What is that, sir?"

"The art of guarding your mind and memory against intrusions."

"Oh. Because of Voldemort?"

Snape hissed in displeasure. "Do not call him that in my presence. And yes. Clearly there is … a connection, of sorts, between you and him. But it also means I will end up seeing many of your memories."

Oh. There really was no escape then.

Beside him, Snape was getting to his feet, cancelling the spells with a flick of his wand. Sound broke through again, the increased frequency in loud bangs and happy shouting indicating that the midnight hour was approaching. The teacher paused, looking down at Harry.

"Count yourself lucky, Mr. Potter, that I _have_ changed my mind about you. At the very least, it will likely make our lessons … much easier on you."

He looked back up at the teacher, feeling stunned again.

So it would make a difference, for once.

Overhead, fireworks exploded in a sudden frenzy of gold and red and green as bells started gravely tolling the hour.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Potter."

"Happy New Year, Professor Snape."

And who knew, perhaps it would even be.

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End file.
